


La Noche de San Juan

by Nomendubium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomendubium/pseuds/Nomendubium
Summary: Between asking if he can remove his jacket and requesting a rubber duck, Aziraphale gets into the tub of holy water somehow. This is just an idea of what was on his mind.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	La Noche de San Juan

Hastur thought he was stalling. Dagon was just confused. Beelzebub, to their credit, looked at Crowley with some respect. Style-Crowley did have it. If he had to take a bath in holy water, he’d strip down and get in himself. Crowley was carefully folding his jacket.

“Hurry up, traitor” Hastur snarled. “What’s it to you if the clothes get dirty? You’ll be dead.”

Aziraphale-as-Crowley lifted an eyebrow, said nothing, and folded his jeans, putting them down next to the jacket and boots, making certain the bits of tartan lining the collar of the jacket couldn’t be seen. Bit stupid, that’d been, but it looked like he’d gotten away with it. Hell was so greedy to see Crowley dead no one had really taken a good look at him.   
  
It was a dismal place. Dark, damp, moldy, and crammed with hopeless souls. No mercy, no peace, no manners. The crowd was muttering. Soon they’d be screaming for his blood. Like the French outside the Bastille. Maybe some of these had been there.

“Go on then, Crowley” Beelzebub ordered, “into the tub.” 

Aziraphale turned and walked to the end of the bath. He’d leave a little sign for some of the demons. Perhaps some would recognize the ritual. Probably wouldn’t mean much, but if this didn’t work (or if it did), he wanted to make a show of trust. Like the thousands at midnight on the Eve of St. John’s (though they stood in the ocean in lines along the beaches, their backs to the sea), Azirpahale turned his back on the tub and let himself fall into the water. A baptism. For good luck. To wash away his sins. And the water received him, breaking his fall. His head went under and holy water slopped over the sides of the tub and sizzled on the floor of Hell. 


End file.
